Private Parts : chap 9

over the phone, to get me on live, at a quarter to eight in the morning. I thought that had a lot of class. I guess the guy's basically an egg timer. I'm not fighting with him, I just don't like him. When a guy calls your home and talks to your people that way, you'd be upset."

Oh, so now he's upset because of the way we treated "his people." What's the story here? GET A LIFE! GETASENSE OFHUMOR!

The only good thing about this whole sorry incident is that Chevy is going on the air any day now with his own talk show and if it's still on the air by the time you're reading this chapter, I'm sure his glaring lack of a sense of humor will provide me with lots of material. Oh, and Chevy, say hello to Gerald Ford for me, babe. You old rebel you.

MADONNA

I tried to be nice to Madonna. I really did. In fact, before she became "Madonna" I kind of dug her. I remember back in 19881 even called her up at home when somebody gave me her home phone number and I left a twenty-minute message on her answering machine. I said all kinds of nice things to her:

Hey Madonna, it's Howard Stern. How ya doin'? Don't get mad, somebody gave me your phone number. I heard you were a fan so I figured I'd call. Hey, I love your videos. I even rented Who's That Girl and Shanghai Surprise. And I'm gonna tell you something, your body looks great from all that running. Hey, we'd love for you to do the show. Tuesday would be a good day because Wednesday's Jessica Hahn and Thursday's Gilligan so tomorrow would be best. Lef s face it -- it would help the ratings and since you like the show, you want to see us get good ratings. I figure you got a good sense of humor. That's why you'll understand this call because if some idiot disc jockey was calling my house I'd be pretty annoyed. But I have to do it because if s my job. I have to be a jerk or people won't listen. Just like you have to wear bras with the metal tips on them like an opera singer. We have so much in common. You have to do stuff for your career and I have to do stuff for mine. I mean, I'm on the radio so I can't have hairy armpits and stuff, I have to do outrageous things that people can hear, know what I'm saying? Oh, and that Penthouse thing. Forget about it, man. Your body

is so much better now. I didn't think that was a big deal. I thought you handled it real well. You didn't get upset, you didn't threaten to sue. You admitted you did the pictures. Hey, who the hell needs you to show up here? We're talking to you anyway!

Madonna couldn't make it in the next day but it wasn't until she got really big that I really got annoyed with her. So by the time her documentary Truth or Dare came out, I had had it with this jerk. If there's a mountain called Egomania, she finally climbed to the top of it with that piece of garbage. Could you believe all the crap in that flick? How about those stupid prayer circles? Imagine if we did a live show again and I said, "Okay, everyone, come into my dressing room and let's form a prayer circle." Robin would have me arrested. And Madonna had four prayer sessions in that friggin' movie! Just once I wanted to hear God answer her back: "Hey, sweetheart! This is God! You know, there's like an AIDS epidemic. Don't you think you can stop wasting my time praying about a stupid concert?" I'd rather clean monkey shit in a circus than be in that prayer circle.

And how many ways could she humiliate the people she worked with? That one woman came to her and said that she was in a hotel room drunk and she passed out and she woke up and her ass was bleeding and this cunt face started laughing at her! You'd think Madonna would have the decency to turn off the camera and say, "I can't use this in my film. This is thiswoman's revelation, not mine." What kind of woman allows that to be aired? Meanwhile, Madonna didn't reveal any aspect of her own life that wasn't cunningly calculated. Hey, let me see her ass bleed a bit. If she picked her nose and put it in the woman's mouth, I'd say, "At least there's something of Madonna." She had a sore throat -- that's real intimate. You see her go to the doctor's office to get her throat sprayed. Hey, if you're pretending to be intimate, let me see you on a bidet, cleaning yourself out.

Then she made fools out of her old girlhood friend and all the confused homos in her troupe and she even showed her brother in a bad light. How demeaning. You should be ashamed of yourself. How about the way she put down Kevin Costner because he came backstage to compliment her on her show? But she didn't like the word he used to praise her. Miss Hip here sticks her finger down her throat

behind his back just because he said her concert was "neat." She is so hip. She's the hippest, man. God, does she make my skin crawl. Thank God I don't work for someone like that whose ass I'd have to kiss. I'd rather just be tied up and let ants eat me.

Who's that girl? It's me striking one of my many Madonna poses.

In fact, I was so incensed over her stupid movie that we decided to do the ultimate Madonna documentary on our TV show. I donned a Madonna wig and one of those stupid bustiers with the spiked bra cups and black garters and the spike heels and voila! I was Madonna, sprawled across a big bed.

"Hi, I'm Madonna and I am so outrageous. Robin, do you know why America loves me? Because I'm constantly changing my attitudes and styles. Because I'm so outrageous. Let me show you why. Boys, come to Madonna."

Two leather boys in leather bikini briefs and chains and studded collars walked over to me like robots. "Yes, Madonna."

"Boys, I want you to hold hands." "Yes, Madonna." They obeyed.

"Robin, I'm playing with homosexuality right now. Boys, I want you to sit on my bullet bra." They each sat on top of one of my spiked bra cups. I was suffocating. "Boys, get up! Watch this, Robin. Boys, I want you to put your genitals on that frying pan there and turn it on and burn them. Do it for Madonna."

"Yes, Madonna," they repeated and walked over to two hotplates.

"They'll do anything

you say?" Robin was incredulous.

"Yes, we must break all sexual boundaries."

Smoke started rising as they burned their genitals on

the frying pans.

"I'm so outrageous, aren't I, America? Robin, have you ever done this?"

I pulled a humongous booger out of my nose.

"But that's not outrageous enough, Robin."

"How far are you going to go, Madonna?" Robin asked.

"Monty, come to Madonna." ! !

I ordered our bald cameraman to come up to me.

"I think all bald men should have boogers attached to their bald heads." I pressed my booger onto his head.

"Thank you, Madonna," Monty said.

"Why are you so emasculating, Madonna?" Robin wondered.

"Because all heterosexual men should be taught a lesson. Do you believe how wicked I am? Can you do this, Robin?"

I lay back on the bed and grabbed some matches and lit a fart.

"This will outrage all America."

The flames shot up into the air.

"I am so wild. I am woman. I am child. I am virgin. I am whore. I am good cook. I am bad cook. I am so wild, sometimes I wear my underwear on my head." I pulled a pair of panties onto my head. "Try it, Robin."

I kept doing outrageous things. I rubbed myself all over with a porno tape. I wore my left shoe on my right foot and my right shoe on my left foot. I breast-fed my father. I even had our producer Dan Forman come out on a dog leash and I made him bark and roll over. I was totally outrageous.

"Robin, there's only one thing left that I can do. I WANT TO CUT MYSELF OPEN AND EAT MY OWN GUTS!"

"You're going to eviscerate yourself?" Robin was shocked.

Boys, I want you to sit on my

bullet bra! I'm Madonna,

I'm outrageous!

"Yes, I've always wanted to rip at my own belly . .."

I clawed at my belly and pulled my guts out.

"... and to eat my own guts!"

I stuffed my mouth with my entrails.

"This is it!" Robin shouted. "Madonna has finally crossed the line!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I moaned orgiastically.

"Are you dying, Madonna?" Robin asked.

"I've done it all! I've done it all!" I screamed as I swooned.

font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: justify; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: #ffffff;">That was some bit. That fart lighting scene cost us our first NBC affiliate when WGIT in Hartford canceled our show. But it was worth it. After all, Madonna and I are artists and we'd do anything for our art.

SHARON STONE

This loser is the newest one on my case. I can't figure these dumb bims out. It took this bitch thirty-three years to find the right role for herself, that of a crazed lesbian ice-pick killer who forgets to wear her panties at police interrogations, and now she wants to jeopardize everything by getting into a vendetta with yours truly. C'MON, BITCH! I'M WAITING FOR YOU! The nerve of her.

This jerk opened her fat yap to Us magazine and claimed that I got her so upset at a Letterman show that we were both on that she had to leave the building and then be chased down and persuaded to come back and do her spot. "I think Stern's a loser and I don't need to follow some guy that was dissing me when I was supposed to be first up," she said. Okay, let me tell you the truth about what went down.

I was scheduled to be the first guest. I'm always on first, or I don't do the show. That was her first lie. Then she said I "dissed" her. All of a sudden, this blondie was talking like Public Enemy. This is what I said about her on Letterman. If she had any brains at all, she'd understand that it was actually a compliment.

Dave, I was back there in the Green Room looking for Sharon Stone. She is one hot babe. I went to see Basic Instinct where she crosses and uncrosses her legs, so for one split second, you see something under her minidress. Now I'm a guy. I must see maybe two pornos a week. I'm honest, Dave. I'm a married man of seventeen years and I never

cheated on my wife. I might masturbate five times a week 'cause I'm one horny guy and I've seen all the porno you can see. People who listen to me send me all kinds of porno things from Germany, things with animals, disgusting. So for me to get horny over Sharon Stone in an R-rated movie, thaf s an accomplishment.

There, that's what I said to Dave. Hey, there's no greater thing in the world than telling a woman who's playing a sex object who's trying to get guys excited that you masturbate to her. So where did I "dis" her?

You stupid confused bimbo! You got a great body but nothing between your ears. You dumb twit. Wait until you start getting those crow's-feet, and you haven't got long to wait, 'cause you've been knocking around Hollywood for years. I'm a loser, huh? I've got an audience of sixteen million people a week. Meanwhile you were in Total Recall for about seven seconds and King Solomon's Mines on TV with Richard Chamberlain, not to mention that porno you had to do for Playboy. You couldn't get noticed until you did that nude shot for Playboy, you big jerk! Now you did some shitty bomb of a film, Sliver, and you went and ran off with someone's husband on the set! You're the loser! The Letterman audience was more excited to see me than you! That's why you wanted to walk, you big crybaby! Even Dave said you were a crybaby! I don't have to spread my legs to get an audience excited, I can use my brains! You stupid bimbo skivosa! In five years you'll be dried up like a piece of shit in the desert. You'll look like a Tootsie Roll. Then you'll see how long that producer husband of yours keeps you around. Hey, if you want to keep your career going, I'll give you one piece of advice: Keep your legs open and your mouth shut.

SIN ÉAD THE BALDY

I hate to pick on people who should be locked up in mental institutions, but this baldy deserves anything she gets. The nerve of this woman coming here and disrespecting our country and our flag! It was enough to make us hire a men's choir and bring them into the studio to sing our own version of "The Star-Spangled Banner":

0 say bald Sinéad

Go jump in a lake

Frank Sinatra was right

We should kick you in your ass.

You tone-deaf fathead

You've got some set of balls

You no-talent runt

Go back where you came from.

Why do you attack

Our country and our flag?

Put a bag on your head And a sock in your mouth.

Go put on a wig and go

Get some breast implants

Then kiss our big fat butts

You skin-headed bitch.

I guess our parody got to her, because soon afterward, Sinéad decided she wanted to retire from show biz. Well, on our TV show we got a nearly bald Irish woman and we envisioned some new jobs for Sinéad. We showed her as a carnival barker, a Hare Krishna, a nun, and a squeegee woman washing car windshields. But the job most suited to Sinéad seemed to be a cashier at McDonald's: "Hello, my name is Sinéad, you ugly capitalist pig. What do you need to fill your bloated, disgusting, imperialist American belly today?"

For all we know, she's now in training in the Ronald McDonald College.

ROSEANNE AND TOM ARNOLD

I saved these two for last. I never really wanted to get into a feud with Roseanne and Tom. This is not a fair fight. Even though they outweigh me by tons, it isn't fair to match wits with two people whose minds have either been institutionalized or fried by cocaine. And I was one of the only people who defended Roseanne and got the joke when she did her version of "The Star-Spangled Banner." But when they kept appearing on talk shows trashing me, calling me a no-talent jerk and a racist and an anti-Semite, I had

no choice but to respond. After all, I'm only human.

Okay, let's take Tom first. Here is a guy whose only talent appears to be getting it up for this fat slob. I would love to see the erection he gets for Roseanne. That must be one sick, evil hard-on. And believe me, he must have talent to be able to go through all those rolls of fat looking for her gross triangle. I mean, I would have sex with sand before I would have sex with Roseanne. Can you imagine the smells that must come out of her? Did you ever smell a big fatso like that? I don't see Roseanne spending three hours in the shower just to get all those hard-to-reach places. Plus, I can't see her shaving down and stuff. I imagine a big forest down there, a huge thatch that he has to weed through. Hey, I'd be on coke too if I had to go through that thatch, not to mention deal with the folds on her legs and her body cheese and stuff. It's frightening what this guy has to go through for his money. Hey, this guy is the Yoko Ono of the nineties, okay? 'Nuf said. Next mental case.

Me, as Tom Arnold.

Sometimes I actually feel sorry for Roseanne. I've always said she was talented. It's just that she's fucked up, big time. So where should we start? Should we start with the incest allegations? Is that the emotional time bomb that propelled her into a loony bin? Or are the allegations of incest a symptom of her unstable mental condition? I don't know, but I find it disgusting that this woman can use her power of celebrity to exploit that platform and make wild, unsubstantiated charges, charges that don't have to be proven in a court of law, and wreak havoc on other people's lives. Did her father play hide-the-soap in her butt? Did he make her comb his other hair? Did her mother get her off every time she changed her diapers? I DON'T KNOW AND

I DON'T CARE TO FIND OUT! HEY, IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE INCEST SURVIVORS ANONYMOUS. ANONYMOUS DOESN'T MEAN ALL OVER THE COVER OF PEOPLE MAGAZINE!

"His fans are plumbers masturbating in their trucks on the way to work."

-- Roseanne Arnold

I was so sick of reading interviews of Roseanne and Tom that I conjured up a fantasy interview of Roseanne:

HOWARD: You say that you just remembered all these childhood episodes of molestation by your father that you were repressing, yet a year ago, at your wedding, you claim your father molested your daughter.

GROSSANNE: I just want to share these experiences so maybe it'll help other kids, so they don't turn out like me, big and fat and stuck with a guy who I'm not sure if he's chasing me for my money 'n stuff.

HOWARD: Remarkably, now Tom says he was molested at seven as a child.

GROSSANNE: Well, it all comes out under hypnosis -- you'd be surprised. I remember now. Oooh, yeah, that bastard. When I was born, the doctor picked me up like a bowling ball.

HOWARD: Your doctor molested you?

GROSSANNE: He explored my tiny baby places with cold, intrusive doctor instruments. It was at that moment I decided to eat too much my whole life.

HOWARD: I read something about your aunt.

GROSSANNE: Oh, yeah, my aunt used to give me oatmeal enemas. But, you know, I didn't realize it was wrong at the time. Boy, those enemas would make me scream.

HOWARD: They were too hot?

GROSSANNE: No, too lumpy. Why can't they make a smooth oatmeal 'n stuff?

HOWARD: You said you had an incident when you were ten?

GROSSANNE: It's true. When I was ten I got my first period 'n stuff and my mother used to make me wear barbed-wire tampons. But they weren't half as bad as the ground-glass suppositories.

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